Page 50 of Vow of the Shadow King

“Yes?” Faraine gently urges.

I draw a long breath and let it out slowly. “Most of the time, she kept to her rooms. The doors shut, the curtains drawn. I think . . . I think she was in pain.”

Faraine is silent. I feel her waiting for me to continue. Suddenly, it’s easier to go on than to stop. The words slip out, one after another, as though they’ve been waiting for a sympathetic ear in which to find shelter all these years.

“She disappeared. When I was still quite young. No one knows for certain what happened. My father sent many brave warriors searching, and he himself ventured to the Surface World. When he returned, however, he called off the search and never spoke of it again. Some speculated that she was kidnapped by his enemies, held hostage, murdered. Others claimed she ran away with some secret lover. Most simply believe she escaped through the Between Gate and found her way back to her own world. All I knew was that my mother had gone. And she’d not taken me with her.”

The rumble of the waterfall is not loud enough to drown out the mothcat’s snores. Both sounds fill the silence that follows as my voice fades away. I fix my gaze on the foam lapping around my bare feet. Perhaps I should have held my tongue. What good can be had from speaking of such things?

Suddenly, Faraine shifts her grip on the mothcat, freeing up one arm. She reaches out. Takes my hand. Her fingers are so small, so slender, yet there’s such unexpected strength in her grip. “You love her,” she says. “So much.”

I frown, turn away. “I gave up loving her a long time ago.”

“You needn’t pretend, Vor. I already know.”

A shiver ripples down my spine. Slowly, I let my eyes be drawn back to hers. So intense and yet so understanding. So knowing.

“What is your gods-gift, Faraine?” I ask abruptly. I wasn’t intending to speak the question out loud. But it’s been in my mind since the night I met her, out under that dreadful expanse of star-filled sky. Her sisters were both gods-gifted. Her brother too. Beauty, song, dance . . . the kinds of miraculous blessings one hears about in old tales. But Faraine’s gift is unlike those of her siblings. Yok’s unconscious body on the floor in her room is proof enough of that.

Faraine blinks. Her mouth works slightly. She’s debating how much to say, and all I can do is wait. Finally, she gives her head a determined shake and lifts her chin. “I feel the feelings of others. Deep inside me. Like a pulse. A reverberation. I feel them so strongly, it hurts sometimes.” She pauses before adding, “Most of the time.” Her eyes flit away from mine, dropping to study the mothcat in her lap. “The crystals of this world, theurzul, as you call them—they seem to channel my gift. To temper and direct it. That’s why I came out here tonight. That’s why I sought the large stones. I was in pain. Ordinarily,thisis enough to moderate my symptoms.” She touches the crystal pendant on its chain around her neck. “But it didn’t help this time. Not after . . .”

“Not after what you witnessed in the chapel?”

She shoots me a startled glance. “You heard about that?”

“I did.”

“Who told you? Yok?”

“My stepmother. Roh.”

Her face seems to shutter. She turns from me again, the muscles around her eyes tightening. “I didn’tseeanything. It was too dark. But the resonance of the crystals was strong, like nothing I’ve ever before experienced. It waslikeseeing, only without sight. Your stepmother was there,” she adds meaningfully.

“And what was she doing exactly?”

Slowly, reluctantly, Faraine tells me. Her words are heavy and low as she describes the ceremony she’d stumbled upon. The faithful, deeply sunk into stone. The knife in the hands of the gray-skinned priest. The pulse of crystals. The blood.

When she comes to the end of her tale, she shudders. “Was that an ordinary ceremony? Is this how your people worship your god?”

I shake my head. My teeth grind hard. “It is not. Blood-letting was long ago banished from the worship ofMorar tor Grakanak.It is dark magic, forbidden in Mythanar.”

Faraine considers my words. At last, she asks, “What will you do?”

Ah! That is the question, isn’t it? I drag a hand through my hair, pushing it off my forehead. “There is little I can do. I cannot act on mere speculation. Without witnesses to present to my ministers, I have nothing but empty accusations to hold against either my stepmother or her damned priest.”

“But there were many in the chapel. Surely some of them could testify?”

“And risk punishment for collusion? You’ll be hard pressed to find one willing.”

Faraine nods solemnly. Then she says, “I could testify.”

“No!” The word bursts harsh from my lips. Hastily, I modulate my voice and continue, “You are human. And a guest in Mythanar. Your word would mean nothing to the council.” I bow over, sink my head into my hands. My fingers dig into my scalp. “I fear it will take greater sins committed before I can take decisive action.”

In my mind’s eye, I see that poor woman once more. Slaughtered. Her body desecrated. The whole scene is there, so vivid, so gory, so wrong. A sense of inevitability fills my gut with roiling bile. There was nothing I could do to stop that death. But now, I fear, there is no way to prevent another just like it. Or worse.

“What was that?”

I frown and lift my head enough to shoot Faraine a questioning glance. “What was what?”

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